


To hold the leash

by Silvermoonphantom



Category: Campaign (Podcast)
Genre: Blood and Injury, I mean its still a kink but it doesnt have to be a sex kink y'know?, I'm too ace for this, M/M, Praise Kink, Surgery, it's not a sex thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:08:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29278953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silvermoonphantom/pseuds/Silvermoonphantom
Summary: Tryst is severely injured, and Bacta patches him up. But healing doesn't happen overnight. Tryst is... not the most patient person.
Relationships: CT-1776 | Bacta/Trystan "Tryst" Valentine
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	To hold the leash

**Author's Note:**

  * For [atmospherique](https://archiveofourown.org/users/atmospherique/gifts).



> A prompt from my friend  
> "Bacta/Tryst - something cute - Tryst makes Bacta blush." 
> 
> I don't think I know how to do straight 'cute'.  
> (Pre-Phyndar, timeline otherwise nebulous)

Bacta was a medic.

So, he’d seen plenty of bodies before. 

Granted- most of those bodies were his brothers, fellow clones, whose limbs and skin and organs all mirrored his own. People whose pieces he could puzzle back together. 

He’d treated the crew of the Mynock enough times to be familiar with how they reacted to his care, but it’d always been rather minor issues. A scrape here, a burn there. Nothing life-threatening. 

And then Leenik and Tryst arrived back from their “just a quick shopping trip, we’ll be back before you know it” excursion, and Tryst was far paler than the man had any right to be, boot making a terrible wet squelch with every limping, staggering step. 

Leenik’s wig was askew, bright eyes wide and panicky. 

“Bacta! Tryst needs help! Hurry hurry hurryhurryhurry.”

He was already moving, retrieving his medkit, helping to haul Tryst up on the kitchen counter, since they didn’t have a kriffing medbay on this tiny ship. 

Filled a hypo with enough Symoxin to knock the man out, and administered it even as Tryst moaned something about coupons. 

“We got in a fight, we thought it was just posturing, you know how people get, but one of them pulled out a slugthrower, and it hit Tryst in the thigh. I don’t even know if they coated it in poison, or if it hit an artery, but we got here as fast as we could.” 

Leenik was babbling, long fingers shaking as his vibroknife carefully cut one of Tryst’s pant legs - the one with a dark, wet streak pouring down to his boot. 

Under the fabric, pale skin was slathered with blood, thigh muscle twitching under where a familiar neckerchief had been tightly tied. 

Leenik was gasping, panting harder than when he first arrived - panic starting to ride over the edge of sense as Tryst slumped into unconsciousness.

“Leenik, it’s alright. You’ve done well. I’ll take care of him now. I need you to go clean up, and make sure Tamlin is alright. You know how he gets when one of us gets hurt.” 

Bacta carefully relieved him of the knife. Leenik clutched the elbows of his jacket, hugging himself as he backpedaled and twisted on his heel. 

“I’ll- I’ll do that. Yeah, okay.” 

The Roadian fled the room, and Bacta was left with his crewmate’s sluggishly bleeding leg. 

Slugthrowers made such a mess. 

No burning, not like blasters, but the shrapnel could tear apart flesh and shatter bone far more effectively. They’d be stopped by most armors - a weapon to use on someone not prepped a firefight. 

With the Symoxin acting as both a painkiller and tranquilizer, Bacta cleaned the wound, scanned it from several angles, put on some gloves and sanitized some med-tongs to go digging. 

It was a gruesome job, made bearable only in that he knew Tryst wasn’t conscious to feel it. 

Thankfully, the slug he pulled out looked in one piece.

Bacta applied a general healing spray, wishing not for the first time that they had  _ actual bacta _ on board. The cure-all was so convenient, but it had gotten horrifically expensive after the Clone Wars ended. 

So, he did what he could to piece the man back together. 

Hooked him up to their remaining IV, hanging the bag to drip into his wrist from the corner of a cupboard handle. Checked that the shallow panting was due to blood loss, and not an allergic reaction to the painkiller. 

Carefully stitched and glued the wound closed - taped and wrapped it for good measure, because he knew Tryst could be an impatient, clumsy idiot at the best of times. 

He was a medic. 

But he could still hear Tryst’s voice saying something sly and flirty in his head as he took the man’s cut-up pants off of him. It was old muscle memory that had him tracking the man’s heart rate by a thumb on his wrist - too slow, too weak, and new intuition that had him wrapping his crewmate in a fluffy kimono before tucking him into the layers of blankets of Tryst’s own bed with a few pillows under his knees to keep his legs elevated. Anything to increase blood flow back to his torso and brain. 

The IV, he hooked onto a D-ring on the bedframe, certain that same ring had been used for something salacious. 

Bacta found a few water bottles and began to heat them up. While that was running, he retrieved his med-kit and dug around until he found the little packet of specific supplements. 

Symoxin often offered headaches as a side effect, and the man would need extra Iron. 

Another hypo injection later, warm bottles of water warming the man’s chest, and Bacta realized… there wasn’t much else to do. 

He sat on the corner of Tryst’s bed, listened to the faint sound of Leenik reading passages of Nemoidian Sparks to Tamlin from the other room. Felt the flutter-beat of Tryst’s heart plucking along. 

Long hours passed in that fashion.

Something calm and quiet had settled over Bacta’s anxious thoughts, all focus directed toward his patient. Again and again, the pale skin out of the corner of his eye caused old instincts to jolt - his own skin would only get that pale on the very edge of death. 

But this was Tryst, not a brother. His lips weren’t blue-tinged anymore, and when Bacta pressed against his fingertips, the flush came back quick enough that the edge of alarm could subside. 

“Is he alright?” Leenik stage-whispered from the doorway, and Bacta nodded. 

“Just keeping an eye on him.” He assured. 

Leenik’s antennae perked up over his newly brunette wig, and he offered a squinting smile. 

“Thank you, Bacta. Knew I could count on you.” He lifted the boots Bacta had pulled off Tryst. “I’ll try to get these clean before he wakes up. You would not believe the amount of complaining he did on the way up about how awful it was to walk in wet boots.” 

Bacta snorted. 

“Sounds like him.” 

Leenik exhaled and tension bled off his slender frame like snow shrugging off from tree branches. 

“Tamlin’s still asleep. I’ll go-” he gestured with the boots. “Do these.” 

Bacta nodded, still absently tracking Tryst’s heartbeat with his thumb. 

Leenik left, and it was again the two of them 

“You’re just a shipload of trouble, aren’t you.” Bacta sighed. 

“Truble’s m’ mid’le name”

Bacta looked down. 

“You’re awake sooner than I thought.” He noted, leaning forward to gently pry open one of Tryst’s eyelids to check the pupil dilation. The man flinched, scrunching his face in protest before he allowed the manhandling. 

“How do you feel?”

“Gross.” Tryst complained wiggling a bit under the blankets. “Hot.” 

“Headache?” 

Tryst nodded, and Bacta took the prepared cup and straw, holding it up to Tryst’s mouth. Said mouth pursed at him in suspicious confusion, eyes still blearily blinking in what must have been drowsiness rather than confusion. 

“You’re dehydrated. Drink the water.” 

Tryst began to drink, and made an odd little noise when Bacta muttered “Good job.” without really thinking 

Bacta moved through the motions of checking his patient’s condition as much as he could without a full-body scanner.

He helped Tryst pull his arm out from under the covers, holding it in his own. 

Blue eyes were blown wide, staring at him in startled confusion. 

“Squeeze my hand as hard as you can.” 

Fingers tightened around his palm, shaking minutely. 

“Is that all you can do?” 

They tightened barely more, before relaxing. 

“Alright, can you wiggle your toes on both feet?” 

He leaned to press his palm over the man’s feet, judging the two of them moving about equally. Trying to test for nerve damage, knowing the current weakness.

“I can’t feel my toes.” 

Bacta nodded absently. 

“The soporific effect from Symoxin wears off before the anesthetic. I gave you a large dose to knock you out so, yes, numbness is normal. You’re speaking coherently, which is a good sign it will wear off soon. You may feel tingling or something like static in your extremities as it begins to wear off.” 

Tryst scrunched his nose again, flexing his hand in front of him. 

“Yep. Got that.” He flicked his hand like he was trying to fling water off of it, and a full-body shiver worked its way down his spine. “Definitely got that.”

“I’ll apply a local Anesthetic before it wears off completely.” Bacta murmured, pulling the hypo from his kit for a less sleep-inducing painkiller. 

“You’ll want to have a hypo every four hours until your leg sets into healing properly. I can give you a larger dose before you sleep. You’ll also  _ stay in bed _ for the next three days.” 

“Three-! What!? No! Absolutely not.” 

Tryst moved to push himself upright, but Bacta’s palm pressed him easily back into bed, overpowering his weakened muscles with hardly any effort.

“That is an order, Tryst. I swear on my life, I  _ will _ tie you down if you disobey that order.” 

“Oh?” The man’s sly grin was quick to appear, but Bacta frowned. 

“I’m not joking.”

“Neither am I.” 

“Aright.” Bacta sat upright. “Where do you keep your ropes?” 

Tryst hesitated, the flirty look faltering for a moment before coming back with determination.

“In the pink bag behind my hamper.” 

Bacta stood up, found the bag, and hauled it up onto the bed in silence.

The zip seemed loud between them. 

“Careful, I also have some toys in-” 

Tryst blinked as Bacta tossed several collars onto his covers, three different bottles of lube, and a pack of condoms “Ribbed for their pleasure” before pulling out a length of bright red rope. Bacta considered the length, then considered the handcuffs for a moment before tossing those back in the bag 

“Tryst, you have a slug wound that I could fit several fingers into, you need-” 

“What, you fingered my leg while I was asleep?”

“You need to stay still, and let it heal, or you could lose your-”

“Didn’t even ask me to dinner first.” 

“You could lose your ability to  _ Walk, Tryst”  _ The anger rose in Bacta’s voice. “Unless you either  _ sit your ass down and heal like a good patient _ , or we spend the credits at a better medic station.” He closed his eyes, sat back down on the bed with the ropes twisted between his fingers. 

“Well, you could always tie me down, we already discussed that.” 

“Do you always have to make it a sex thing?” Bacta sighed, already exhausted. He needed more Leesai. 

“I dunno, you could actually say I’m doing a good job, since I haven’t moved yet despite being a total masochist.” 

Bacta turned, and Tryst was making careful eye contact with the dresser. Several data points clicked into place. 

“Oh.” 

Tryst’s blue eyes flicked to his, then away again.

“Tryst.” 

Back to him, pupils visibly dilating at the leather collar in Bacta’s hands. 

Bacta took a breath, fought the flush trying to creep up his own neck and reminded himself that this was for health’s sake. To keep his dumbass teammate - his family - alive. 

“If I put this on you, it means you have to follow orders, alright?” 

Those eyes glanced down to the collar, up to his face, and Tryst nodded quickly. 

The man’s chin tilted up, neck held out obligingly as Bacta secured the collar against a swallowing throat. The cocksure smirk so familiar on his friend’s face was gone, replaced by something oddly vulnerable. 

The collar clicked into place, and Bacta set his palm against the side of Tryst’s face, thumb tracing under his eye, pinkie pressing in the soft junction of throat and skull under his ear to feel the heartbeats quicken. 

“Good boy.” Bacta murmured, and Tryst’s eyes closed, face leaning into his palm. The man’s hands were clenched in his lap, grasping the blankets. Bacta could feel his own cheeks heating in embarrassment over the words he was saying. 

This was going to be… a long couple weeks. 


End file.
